"I don't give a shit about being hospitable," Woody said. "I want to know what you and Keith were up to."
"Urban," Urban corrected.
"Keith, Urban, whatever." Woody shrugged.
Urban glared daggers at him, which Woody gave back in equal measure.
"Aren't they adorable?" Noah asked, leaning over to me conspiratorially, "Who do you think will win the glare-off?"
I found myself liking him. "My money's on Woody," I said. "I've never known anyone who could glare as expertly as him."
"Interesting." Noah rubbed the stubble on his chin as if he had an extensive beard. "I've never met anyone who could out-glare Urban. Although, Forrest is pretty good too when he puts his mind to it."
I laughed softly and grabbed the plate of sandwiches to place it in the middle of the table.
"I suppose we could sit down," Noah said, grabbing up a ham and cheese sandwich and taking a bite. "Nice."
"It's just a sandwich." I shrugged and picked up one of my own.
"If you asked Urban, he'd tell you that's what women are good for; making sandwiches." Noah waggled his eyebrows, trying to get a rise out of his brother.
Urban flipped him off before yanking out a chair and flopping into it. "I'm not a fucking Neanderthal."
"No, you're closer to Homo Erectus," Noah said.
"Noah's an archaeologist," Forrest explained.
"It's almost like a family business. Forrest turns people into bones and I dig them up." Noah leaned back in his chair, sandwich in one hand.
"Where does Urban fit into all of that?" Leif asked.
"I try to make sure our big brother doesn't end up in prison," Urban said, giving Forrest a crackled frown.
"You do dirty work for this prick then?" Woody jerked his head toward Forrest.
"Yeah, you could say that," Noah agreed.
"They've been working behind the scenes, trying to figure out who's behind the auction and finding the women they sold. Have you made any further progress?" Forrest asked.
"Yeah, we have the name of the asshole who's been running these events." Urban said. "Do you know a man called Gregor Quinn?"
His hands on the table in front of him, Forrest hummed that he had. "His father started one of the biggest gas companies in the world. He's been steadily expanding the business for decades. He's also a big political donor. He pulls a lot of strings behind the scenes."
"He funded the senator's last run for office," Noah said. "Not to mention a bunch of others. He has very big pockets, and a lot of influential and powerful people tucked inside them." He patted his own pocket.
"Men like him are usually untouchable," Forrest said darkly.
"Usually, but it's time for this one to meet his maker," Woody said. His expression was deadpan compared to the melodramatic words.
"I know him." I kept my voice low, not wanting to say the words out loud.
"You know Gregor Quinn?" Forrest asked.
"He was a friend of Wolfgang’s." I nodded slowly. "I've met him a few times. He's always been…" I tried to think of the right words. "Slimy, slick. He used to look at me like I was a piece of meat. He tried to corner me once, but Wolfgang walked in. I got the impression if he hadn't, he would have…" I looked down at a knot on the table. "He came to Wolfgang's funeral. He approached me and said, when I was ready, I should contact him."
“Ready?" Woody echoed. "He made a pass at a widow at her husband's funeral? What sort of sick fuck does that?"
"An entitled one," Forrest said.
